Rock of Ages
by BatailleDeMots
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Cas were just planning on finishing a no big deal ghost case in rural Minnesota when injuries, love, and the like leads to small-town drama, and further angst between the three.
1. Prologue

**Hello people who might be reading this:**

**I have a lot planned for this fic, and absolutely no motivation to do it. Actually, scratch that, I have tons of motivation but only when I can't do anything about it...**

**I hope everyone's having an awesome winter break! **

**This fic will probably be somewhat like your typical case fic at the beginning but then I have it spiraling into a lot more, and I haven't decided exactly how I want everything to go yet, but maybe I'll do it largely based on reviews, spontaneous ideas, and whatnot.**

**So, I hope you enjoy. This is the prologue, background info, basically what you'd get in the first five minutes of the episode if this were to be an actual episode. At this point I don't believe it contains any particular spoilers, so anyone should be fine to read it for now.**

**And plus, I don't own Supernatural.**

**Enjoy, constructive criticism is more than welcome.**

Everyone in the little town of Summerville, Minnesota stayed away from the old haunted house on Poppytree Lane. It used to belong to Mr and Mrs Reagan years ago, but it had been empty and rumored haunted by the ghosts of whoever murdered the Reagans for nearly fifty years. The last person to go in was young Liana Finch, who had a nasty habit of sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She had yet to come out, but she had gone in the middle of the night and it wasn't yet dawn so nobody had recognized her absence.

Three hours later, though, the entire town was thrown into chaos as Liana's older sister and legal custodian Olivia Finch woke up to find her missing and promptly alerted all of the neighbors in a five mile radius that would listen and the local (and somewhat useless) police force, which amounted to nearly half the town.

As the day went on, the police and neighbor search parties had found nothing, no evidence of forced entry in her room, no signs anyone had stolen her, and her toothbrush, a blanket, and her favorite stuffed animal were all missing. Olivia was forced to admit that it was possible she had run away of her own accord.

Throughout the next week the entire town was searched, the first mile into the surrounding forest, and most of the citizens questioned. Nobody had any idea where she might've gone except the town drunk, Marley Steuman, who was the only one out at that hour, and he was pretty unreliable, but he said he thought he saw her on Poppytree Lane at 3 am last night.

Every corner of the town had been searched, every citizen interviewed, and all signs pointed to the Reagan mansion. It had been 3 days since she went missing, the police regrettably thought it was highly improbable that she was still alive. However, they decided that a quick patrol of the Reagan mansion would be good, just to make sure she wasn't there.

Quentin Morris wasn't the bravest of men, but he prides himself the toughest man in the Summerville Police Department. So it was natural that, through democratic vote, they unanimously elected him for the responsibility of venturing into the old mansion... Alone.

They said they didn't want to scare the little girl with a lot of troops. They said he was more mobile on his own. Quentin thought they were a whole bunch of pussies, but agreed. He had been kinda curious about this mansion himself, and now that he had an excuse he couldn't resist. He also cared quite a bit for little Juliana Finch, he just thought she was adorable, and she'd been the only one that hugged him when her first grade class had taken a field trip to the police station last year. He resolved to himself that he'd do whatever it took to save that little girl's life.

It was around 7:30 pm before Quentin got around to collecting his gun, flashlight, and first aid kit and participating in compulsory family dinner and finally leaving, warned by at least 5 members of his family twice to be careful. He rolled is eyes. Quentin wasn't afraid of any ghosts, if they even existed. He still wasn't sure he even believed in ghosts, but he guessed he'd find out. House behind him, Quentin pulled out of the driveway in his police car and rolled off as quietly as the old car would let him, trying not to disturb all the little ones trying to sleep. It didn't take long for him to get to the old mansion, so he still hadn't lost all his nerve when he officially kicked down the door and switched on his flashlight.

"Juliana? Liana Finch?" He called out repeatedly as he stepped carefully through the house. It was still light outside, but he took no chances and shined his flashlight into every dark corner.

Even Quentin had to admit that the old house was very creepy. It was like your typical old haunted mansion, with spiderwebs (Quentin hated spiders more than anything in the entire world), a crap ton of dust, and rickety floor and wall boards. He was extremely cautious going up the stairs, and it felt to him like it was awkwardly cold inside the house for summer, but only in certain spots, and the house seemed to settle and the wind to blow an awful lot. But telling himself that it was daytime and nothing scary in horror movies happened in the daylight, he persevered, calling out for Juliana as he went.

Upstairs, he had been at the final room on the left side of the hallway (he still had the right side to go) before he could hear faint coughing. Opening the door, it took a second for his eyes to adjust (it had long since become darker) before he saw the small body on the floor, being towered over by what could only be described as a HUGE ASS FRICKIN GHOST with a knife in their hands.

Now Quentin had been conditioned to never panic during possibly dangerous situations, just to get the victim safe and out of trouble and then handling them if he could. These instincts didn't fail him now, and he picked up the still-thankfully-breathing Juliana and ran her outside, radioing the station quickly. Before long, an ambulance came and went, and Quentin had gone back into the house.

_This is the part where those white people in the horror movies get killed _he thought to himself. Still, he persevered on, false hope powering his footsteps.

By dawn, there was no visibly recognizable part of Quentin Morris anywhere in the house, only a gruesome pile of entrails.

The townspeople had their answers.

**So yeah, this was kinda short, but I'm posting the first chapter with this one, which I hope is quite a bit longer and more enjoyable. Tell me what you thought about it, please. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**(Oh, and Abby, this was part of your christmas present, sorry it took so long)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey people, it's literally about three seconds since I first put up the prologue, so here's the beginning of the story, this won't hopefully be as boring as the prologue. Because it has Sam and Dean in it. And I hope I put enough humor in it.**

**Like I said before, any kind of reviews, even constructive criticism, are very beneficial to the writing and maybe even the plot.**

**And also I apologize for the overabundance of adverbs and adjectives.**

**Enjoy!**

It was one of those freakin Tuesdays again. Dean hated Tuesdays ever since he'd died on about a hundred of 'em. He was going stir crazy again after a record high 2 straight weeks in the bunker and was overeager for another case. Prowling the Internet on Sammy's miracle search engine (the little bitch was out "getting cholesterol", but Dean wasn't stupid and knew that meant he was either at a bar or at a _salad _bar) had proved inefficient to get him out of the bunker, and Dean was just about to give up when Sam ran into the kitchen, sweaty as hell and panting heavily, a small grocery bag in his hands.

Dean looked up, smirking. "Dude, did you go for a _jog?_"

Sam glanced up and gave him a well practiced bitch face before stalking over to the sink to get a glass of water.

"Dean, exercise is good for you. Especially with all that pie you've been eating."

"You callin' me fat?"

Unable to answer without perpetuating additional arguing, Sam rolled his eyes and got back to what he was supposed to be saying.

"_Anyways, _so get this. There's a possible case in Minnesota that I heard about from someone at the... At the grocery store. A girl got kidnapped into this old mansion, and there was nothing recognizable left of the guy who went in to save her. Like, we're talking serious _chunks _chopped off the guy, blood everywhere. Sounded like our kinda thing."

"Mmm. Where was this?"

"Uh, Summerville, I think. Small rural farming town."

Dammit. Dean hated small towns. It got so sticky because everyone knew each other, and had dirty secrets and gossip, and he hated being in the middle of it all. But he was getting more stir crazy by the second, and the case at least presented the opportunity to get out. "Fine. Let's go, but only after you get a shower."

Sam stood up, triumphant at succeeding at getting Dean out of his funk, and walked off to get in the shower. Dean looked after him, and laughed quietly to himself, rolling his eyes. His brother, the health nut.

Nearly an hour later, they had gotten into the Impala and were driving off towards Minnesota. It was about an 11 hour drive, so they'd get there by around midnight that night if they stopped once to eat. At about 11 that night, Dean had taken back over and Sam was asleep. Dean loved driving his baby on long winding roads, with awkward Supertramp songs playing quietly on the radio. They hadn't stopped to eat because Sam'd had the foresight to pack snacks (he even, with much bitching, included a few slices of pie for Dean) so they were there earlier than planned. Driving into town, only the lights of the street lamps and the 24 hour gas station and motel were on, so he pulled into the shared parking lot. Grinning evilly and deciding to have a bit of fun while he could, he decided to wake Sammy up by blasting a Bon-Jovi-rocks-on-occasion song...

_SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BLAME! YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME!_

Sam woke with a start and quite a few curses, staring venemously at his brother. Dean smiled, turned down the volume, and announced "We're here, Samantha"

Sam gave him bitch face #47 (by far the sassiest and moderately irritated) and got out of the car, smoothing down his hair.

Dean followed suit, and soon they were in a two-bed somewhat seedy (although very home-y) motel room. Sam had pulled about fifty lore books out of the shelves back at the bunker and brought nearly all of them, and he was paging through them as Dean read aloud the news article about the event.

Sam closed the books eventually, both of them deciding it was probably a bad case of vengeful spirit, and they both laid down to get their four hours, because it would be a long day of monkey suits and carefully posed questions in the morning.

Early next morning they got up, put on the suits, and walked over to the cheery diner near the middle of town, because they needed to question one of the staff that they knew worked the early morning shift. Only one other person was there at that time, one of the cooks, so it was extremely quiet. The person they needed to ask was Olivia Finch, an elementary school teacher and part time waitress.

When they got to the door, she was making coffee (or at least they assumed it was her) at the counter, and gestured them both over.

"Mornin, gentlemen. Can I get you some coffee?" She looked over at Sam, a slightly flirty smirk on her lips. "Damn, first man I've met with longer hair than me." Dean laughed a little at this, while Sam just shot them both a giant bitch face.

She was very pretty, thin with pale, unmarked skin and short, thick, somewhat curly blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes. Sam got the sensation that he was looking at Jess' cousin. Quickly he gave Dean a look that clearly claimed dibs, and Dean rolled his eyes before asking the girl for two black coffees. When she got back, she hadn't set down the mugs before Sam had asked, "are you Olivia Finch?" She nodded, beginning to look slightly worried, but stayed at the counter while they both pulled out their fake badges. After a quick look at both of them, she sighed and asked, "Is this about what happened to my sister and Officer Morris?"

Sam nodded regretfully and Dean took another sip of coffee and ordered some bacon, which Olivia shouted to the cook before turning back. "I don't care what my sister says, there's no possibility of a ghost in the Reagan mansion. Ghosts don't exist."

Sam smirked a little bit. "I'm sure they don't, miss, but it helps us to see every angle. What did your sister say she saw?"

Olivia faltered. "I- just- um- ok, look, my shift ends in two hours, you can come to my house to ask her yourself." She gave Dean his bacon in a to-go box and wrote the address on the lid. "Come at 9. I'm sure she'll be up by then."

Sam drained his coffee mug, and he and Dean left, leaving a generous tip. He shot Olivia a brief smile as they left, which he was pretty sure she returned. She was very pretty, she seemed like a nice girl, and Sam was upset that he liked her, because it was probably a matter of less than a week before they had to leave and he'd never see her again.

Before he could decide whether he wanted to go for it or just stay away for the better, Dean's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Freakin' small towns, what the hell... Sammy, it's like 7, wanna go scope out the old mansion before we question the girl?"

"That's probably a good idea. Get a feel of what kind of thing it is, but by how the article described the body, I'd say it wasn't anything witchy, probably more like a werewolf kind of thing" Sam replied.

"Yeah, but the heart was still all there in the middle of it all"

"I don't know, Dean, an abusive ghost? A vamp with a fetish? An obscure demon? I know just as much as you do"

"There, there, Samantha, don't get pissy. We'll be there in a bit and we can check for EMF, hex bags, the works"

Sam just let out a tired sigh and sat back in the seat.

About 5 minutes later, Dean pulled up on the curb in front of the old Reagan mansion. Both men got out of the car as Dean popped the trunk and propped it up on one of their old shotguns. They grabbed both EMF detectors, a jar of salt, handguns and demon knives, and finally a knife of silver and the steel crowbar that Dean generally used to help knock down and pry open things. Before they entered the house, though, Sam had a few qualms.

"Dean, what if whatever killed that officer's not there now? It'll probably only turn up later, we should come back tonight."

"And get turned into mush because we can't see what we're dealing with? Sorry, Sammy, but I don't wanna turn into a pile of goo"

"Whatever, Dean" Sam sassed as they broke down the door.

They searched the old mansion quite thoroughly over the next hour, and they didn't find anything supernatural. However, they did detect quite a bit of EMF, and several cold spots in the house. The evidence was conclusive: there were definitely multiple ghosts living in the mansion, but they were ones who didn't feel like coming out during the daytime. Irritated but unconcerned, the boys left the mansion with an agreement to come back later that day after nightfall. Dean even agreed that Sam was probably right about the ghosts not liking daylight.

It was almost 9 by the time they'd managed to get everything packed back up, so they changed back into their monkey suits at the motel and drove to the address that Olivia had written on Dean's carry out bacon. The house was a small one-story cottage-like house, painted white with a few kid's toys on the porch. Sam smiled a little at the display of domesticity, another reminder of the life he'd never have, while Dean rang the doorbell a little aggressively.

Olivia opened the door, and Sam was (as Bon Jovi so rightfully sang) shot through the heart yet again by her beauty. Quickly, though, he composed himself and smiled in a way he hoped was friendly and believable. Dean just kind of gave her a half smirk, and she greeted them as they walked in.

"Hello, agents. Can I get you something to drink?"

Sam shook his head while Dean politely declined, and Olivia nodded plainly. "Alright. I'll go get Liana, she's probably still locked up in her room, reading. Kids, you know."

Dean gave a half-hearted chuckle while Sam ignored the comment entirely in favor of watching Olivia walk down the hallway. Goddamn, he had it bad. He shook his head, creating a glorious moose halo of golden brown hair around his jaw, and tried to snap himself back into reality.

Seconds later, Olivia came back into the living room, holding the hand of a little girl who could only be Liana. She was blonde like Olivia, but she wore little wire-framed glasses and had on polka-dot tights, a rainbow skirt, and a my little pony t-shirt. She seemed kind of shy, so Sam motioned toward Dean to start. Dean was far better with kids, probably due to his experience raising Sam, and Sam was more than willing to talk to Olivia for a bit (about the case, of course) while Dean enjoyed his time with kids.

Dean sat down across from Liana while Sam crossed over to the counter to speak with Olivia.

"So, uh" he paused to clear his throat, in a manly but hopefully not too unbreakably tough way "can you, uh, if you don't mind, maybe" he stopped to take a breath in which Olivia started to laugh (and such a beautiful laugh it was) and said, in her light voice, "just spit it out, I thought federal agents had charisma." Sam chuckled a bit at this, and continued. "Can you start from when you realized Liana was gone, and tell us what happened from then on?"

"Sure, I guess", Olivia said, looking down, an expression of teasing replaced with one of fear and guilt. "I was up around 4 am, I usually wake up then for my shift at the diner, and I went to wake her up like I usually do, to tell her I'm going. She's ten, I can trust her at home alone, nothing happens in this little town." She paused, and looked like she wanted to say something, probably like "until now", but gave a little (adorable) cough and continued without the extra comment. " I went into her room, and the window was open, and the bed was empty, unmade. You could understand I pretty much freaked, she's everything in my life, and I can't lose her." She looked up to Sam with a slightly worried am-I-sane gaze, but Sam fully understood the dangerous codependency issue. "But anyways," she continued, "I called the police, and the entire town was searched, except the Reagan mansion, and the woods, with no sign of her. A single police officer, Officer Morris, volunteered to go in, and of course, you must know what happened to him" She turned away to wipe away a tear, and sniff a little before regaining her composure, something Sam could only offer a sympathetic half-smile to, he hadn't known the man. "He got her out alive, barely harmed except a small scratch on her arm and a mild concussion. I rode in the ambulance with her, and she was out cold. I don't know how much she remembers, but hopefully he'll" she gestured over to where Dean appeared to be talking intently with Liana, "be able to find out what he can from her." Sam shot her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he will, Dean's great with kids." He debated a little on the word choice, he wasn't sure if Dean wanted them to be called their original names, but decided it didn't matter and stuck with it. Olivia hummed slightly as Dean got up, nodded at her politely, and said goodbye to Liana. "Alright, Miss Finch, thank you for the information, and please, if anything crops up, we're staying at the Shamrock motel. Surely you know how to reach it." Olivia nodded, and stopped them from leaving with a small slip of paper, which she handed to Sam. Seeing a neatly written series of numbers, he looked up with a smile, but Olivia offered no more than a small smirk as she shut the door behind them.

"Alright Mr. Lovestruck, the girl didn't have much to say, but it was pretty valuable. First of all, there's multiple ghosts, a whole family that died around the same time. There's been a local legend 'bout the mansion for years, it's kind of bad luck to go there in this town, rumors and all that. There's not a graveyard, so they were probably cremated, so we'll have to practically burn down the entire house to get them gone, but I'm sure we can do it. From what she said, we're looking at 6, maybe 7 ghosts."

Sam nodded, still a little dumbfounded from Olivia's sweet smile. "Okay, you reckon we can go tonight?"

"Yeah. Should be good, won't hurt to go back to the motel and do as much research about the Reagans as we can"

And with that, the boys headed back to their motel room, a long day and even longer night ahead of them.

**That's a lot longer of something I can usually write, but I guess that's because it's winter break and also because I've been working on it since November in a vain attempt to finish the entire thing for a Christmas present for my best friend...**

**Well, she'll just have to deal.**

**Merry Disappointment Day, everyone.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Sorry this took so long, I was sorta unmotivated and I went through a lot of emotional shit but that probably got the better of me in writing. I hope this is way better than Chapter 1 was, and I've already started on 3. Thanks so much for reading/following this. It really helps motivate me. Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 2

It was the next night, and Dean was already complaining about how hungry he was.

"Dean, are you actually serious, we ate literally half an hour ago, and you had two large hamburgers, three beers, and two slices of pie. I had to drive you back to the motel. Are you even sober enough to go on this hunt?"

"'m fine, Sammy." Dean slurred unconvincingly. "Just hand me a gun, and tell me where to shoot. I'll be peachy"

Sam shook his head, shooting Dean the third bitch face in an hour. "No way. We're waiting at least until midnight." He sighed, it was already ten, and they were losing valuable ghost hunting time. "You really had to order three beers?"

"Hey, man, that waitress was hot!" Dean retorted.

Sam rolled his eyes, but said no more. He knew better than to mess with angry drunk Dean, it had gotten messy more than a few times. Instead, he sighed and sat down on his bed, turning on his laptop. At least his mind had been off Olivia.

Dean stumbled around drunkenly for the next hour and half, dividing his time between guffawing at Doctor Sexy reruns, throwing up, and falling on his bed repeatedly and giggling. All of these being extremely annoying, Sam blasted a few of his favorite "douche bag songs" (as sober Dean loved to call them) and figured when Dean started complaining about it, he was sober enough to go hunt. At some point, drunk Dean had thought it was a good idea to ruffle Sam's hair with a good noogie (that lasted for five minutes straight) so Sam had spent a full hour in the bathroom with a comb, cursing his brother for all it was worth.

Around midnight thirty, though, Sam deemed Dean sober enough to go hunting (he had seized Sam's laptop and stopped Meghan Trainor in her tracks before blowing out Sam's eardrums with some good ol' Black Sabbath). Off they went, Dean complaining of a hangover, and also that Sam was driving Baby, but he wasn't going to do anything about it.

They arrived at the Reagan's at just after quarter 'til one in the morning, and although Dean was not in tip top condition, Sam still figured they were good enough to take out a few ghosts. They'd done it before, right? Grabbing their iron crowbars and salt rounds, they went into the mansion, hopefully for the last time.

Advancing up the stairs, through a wordless Winchester Glance they decided to first go to the room where Liana had been found by Officer Morris: the back left bedroom. Scuffing up dust along the dark hallway, Sam led on to the door. Painted what must have been a violent shade of pink but was now faded and chipping away, the door fell down quickly with a sharp kick from Dean. Peering inside the room, however, they saw no signs of a ghost, only dried blood still smeared across the walls from Officer Morris' incident.

"Maybe we should split up, search the house seperately, so we can cover more ground." suggested Sam.

"Yeah, ok. Sounds good. I'll take downstairs, and yell if you see anything."

"Alright." Sam agreed, and they parted ways.

Dean stumbled back down the stairs, crossing the front living space over to an odd looking fireplace, and flicked his flashlight back on. He was unsure of how it got turned off in the first place, but decided it didn't really matter. Facing the door to what he assumed was a hallway or kitchen, he readied his gun full of salt rounds and tentatively creaked open the door. Shining his flashlight quickly around the room, he judged it safe after a minute of looking and proceeded to the door at the other end. Pressing his gun's nozzle up against yet another old dusty wooden door, this one who's chipped paint must have been a dark forest green, he gently turned the knob and the door seemed to open by itself, cold air creeping over him like a cloud. Reacting too slowly, he turned around, cocking his gun just in time to see a big, angry ghost with a long sword raised above his head.

Sam had just been in the middle of working up the nerve to open a few file cabinets that had been rattling around menacingly when he heard a shout from downstairs that had undoubtedly escaped from his brother's lips. Rightly assuming his brother was in mortal danger, Sam abandoned the cabinets and raced down the hallway and stairs just in time to see Mr. Reagan's ghost strike what could have been a killing blow on the unmoving bloody mass that was his brother.

Armed wth his gun of salt rounds and a fire poker, he fended off the ghost until he had enough time to grab Dean and run out of the house, effectively saving them from the short range of the ghost. Dean had been knocked unconscious, and as Sam laid him out on the grass outside he could see Dean was still bleeding very badly. _He's going to bleed out, _Sam thought hopelessly, until something, or rather somebody, occured to him. Quickly wrapping up Dean's most major wounds with strips of his plaid shirt that he quickly tore, he then moved a short distance bowed his head and summoned the strength of all his willpower and called out softly, "Cas?" Within two seconds, when his request failed to produce a trench coat clad angel, he tried again. "Castiel?" he asked, a little louder. Becoming more irritated with Cas' apparent lack of urgency, Sam lost all of his patience and began to scream. "CAS! CASTIEL! ANGEL OF THE LORD! WE NEED YOU HERE! Come on, help me out here. Dean's hurt, and we need you to heal him. CAS! CAAAASSSSS! PLEASE, CAS!"

Sinking to the ground, finally emotionally (not to mention vocally) overwhelmed, he let out one last strangled call to the angel before he, too, lost consciousness.

Sam awoke later (how much later, he couldn't tell) to a killer headache. Opening his eyes, he realized he was back in his and Dean's motel room. Puzzled, he glanced around, being careful not to sit up too quickly, and located Dean lying supposedly asleep on the other bed in the room. Castiel, he realized upon shakily standing up, was sitting in the kitchenette enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This seemed odd to Sam, although his half asleep brain couldn't figure out why.

After turning on the conveniently located coffee pot, he sat down at the table across from the angel, and greeted him with a nod and a single verbalization.

"Cas"

Castiel replied with "Sam." He didn't look up from his newspaper.

Feeling another episode of throbbing from his temple coming on, Sam grimaced slightly and leaned his head toward his left hand so he could massage it.

"What happened? You know, at the Reagan's?"

Cas put down his newspaper and his PBJ, swallowed his last bite of it, and looked directly at Sam. This only went on for about half a second before Sam became uncomfortable (hey, it was usually Dean on the receiving end of that creepy stare) and averted his eyes, focusing instead on the headline of the newspaper.

"From what I could tell," Cas began, "I arrived shortly after you went unconscious. I 'mojo'd (he made sarcastic finger quotes) both you and Dean back here, obviously with some difficulty. I attempted to heal Dean to the best of my ability, which unfortunatley is not much at the current moment, and since then I've been watching over you."

"What do you mean, the best of your ability isn't much? Is there something wrong with your powers?" Sam asked, rather concerned.

"I had... little faith in my ability to heal Dean after my difficulty getting you both here and safe, but it seems as if he'll live. However, it was unwise of him to go on a hunt whilst intoxicated, and unwise of you to let him." Now Cas was looking straight at Sam again, with the air of a father reprimanding their rebellious teenager.

"Yeah, in hindsight, maybe not the best of plans, but thanks for your rescue. Listen, Cas, you mind watching over Dean for a little longer? I'd like to go do some research into the Reagan's family history, see if I can find out how many ghosts there are, if they were cremated or buried, when they died, and all that kind of stuff."

Cas rolled his eyes, and said tiredly, "All right, Sam." Sam stood up and walked over to his bag.

Suddenly, then, he finally realized exactly what was wrong with Cas eating the PBJ. Turning around, he shot the angel a questioning glance, motioning to the sandwich. If possible, Cas' face took on an even more tired expression as he opened his mouth to answer.

"I am- my powers appear to be cut off from heaven."

"Permanently?"

"I hope not" Cas replied, smiling sadly.

With nothing more to say, Sam grabbed the keys to Dean's baby and left the motel room, advising Cas to get some sleep.

"You are a complete ass, you know that?"

Cas waited. Of course Dean didn't respond.

"The funny thing though, is that it's just like you to do something like this. Get too drunk to impress some _girls_, insist you're fine, and then go and do something foolish. _Just like you._"

_Dean's asleep,_ Cas thought_. He can't hear you._

Somehow, though, it was more comforting to give a soliloquy than a monologue. Especially since he didn't have to say words to Dean's face, and act like he didn't care while Dean covered up his "chick flick moment" emotions with anger, or even worse a blank face and a hasty change of the subject. It hurt to be able to physically see how hard Dean tried to smother his emotions.

Cas didn't think he'd ever get used to it.

The late morning sun glared through the library's windows and cast a shadow on the book Sam was currently immured in, thoroughly pissing him off, and not for the first time that morning.

Someone in a red minivan had cut him off really close to the Impala's front bumper on the way to the library, and so of course Sam's first instinct was to pull over and check it for a scratch or dent. Thankfully there was neither, but before he'd been able to pull over his mind decided he'd enjoy a cruel but accurate vision of exactly what Dean would do to him if he managed to ding up his Baby.

When he finally reached the library after slower and much more defensive driving, he was annoyed to find that all the library's computers were irritatingly occupied, with the sign in sheet adjacent to each completely filled in with names. He'd come in eager to research the Reagans back to the 1800s, but instead he received a weird look from the head librarian and a few dinky boxes of records that, upon (literal) digging, only went back at the farthest to 1930. However, this was a lot, and Sam was grateful for it. The Reagans, luckily, proved a very public family.

Sitting down with a box of diary entries and a grumpy expression, Sam unexcitedly dove into the task, but soon felt his mind wander over to a list of everything else he was extremely pissed about.

He was pissed about Cas' supposed nonchalance about his, and mostly Dean's, condition.

He was pissed that there were vengeful spirits that dared to haunt such a sweet innocent town.

He was pissed at Dean for hunting drunk, and pissed at himself for letting him.

But most of all, he was _deeply _pissed at whoever or whatever continued to cast a shadow over his book, despite the fact that he's spent the last 10 minutes finding an optimal orientation at the small table. He looked up at the offending shadow caster with bitch face supreme written all over his face, only to have to wipe it off and replace it with an endearing smile when he saw who it was.

"Olivia." He stated, rushing to stand up. "What brings you here?"

Sam thinks he's hallucinating when he sees her blush the tiniest bit and look away. Which was adorable.

"Uh... Jus-just returning...er, some books. For Liana."

"Oh. Uh.. That-that's good. I'm just, uh, doing some research on the Reagans." Sam inwardly cursed himself for stammering awkwardly.

"Looks like a lot of paper to go through." Olivia observed cooly. "Want some help?"

Sam was a bit taken aback, but choked out a reply nonetheless. "Honestly? I'd love some. Can you stay and help for an hour or two?"

"Yeah, I can stay until Liana gets out of school at half past three. What do you need to find?" she asked, sitting down in the chair next to him.

"I need anything that you can find about how many family members there were, what they did, how they died, any possible severe arguments, a reason they'd want to stick around." Sam smiled at her, but still managed to deliver the words in a serious tone.

"You think they're ghosts, don't you?" Olivia half asked.

"I know they're ghosts. Dean and I went to the mansion last night, and I had to fight one of them off him." Sam replied.

She gave him a confused glance. "Sorry to sound skeptical, but how do you even fight ghosts? Do you use those vacuum things?" She gestured wildly to her back and shoulders.

"Do you mean- no, no, we're not Ghostbusters. We just... Iron. You hit it with iron to keep it away while you destroy the remains."

"Oh." Olivia said, and looked back down at a birth certificate she was reading. Sam could tell she didn't quite believe him, but was in no mood to try to convince her. Instead, he rummaged back through the box, looking for the will.

TWO HOURS LATER

"Okay, Sam, I think I found something."

Sam looked up excitedly. All the will had told him was that Mr. and Mrs. Reagan were cremated after their death, and left all their money split between their buisness and one child, the only one mentioned, by the name of William.

"I found all these birth and death certificates," Olivia continued, "and if this is everything, there's six birth certificates and only five deaths. So either something's missing, or there's one of them still alive."

"Great." Sam said, gesturing for her to continue.

"Okay, so Donald and Valerie Reagan were born in 1930, and supposedly their four kids, Milded, Josephine, Annalise, and... get this, William, were born around the sixties. All the death certificates here say the same date: April 1st, 1976."

Sam sat up. "I have an article here about a fire at that house in '76. That's it, that's what killed them."

Olivia smiled, and they high fived.

"Alright, that's enough work for one day." Sam said, getting his stuff together to leave.

"Hey, hey, not so fast," protested Olivia. "I still have a few hours until I have to pick up Liana, and it's about lunchtime. What about taking me to lunch?"

Confusedly, Sam replied, "I never said I'd- oh" as it dawned on him. Grinning broadly and throwing caution to the wind, he then proceeded to ask, "Ok, where do you wanna go?"

"Uh... Anywhere that's not Sandy's. Probably like that McDonald's on Troughton Road."

"Cheap date," Sam remarked, "but more than okay with me." Extending his hand, and Olivia taking it, they walked out of the library together.

**Yep, so... hope that was worth waiting this long for. Thanks for reading, and a review always helps. Thanks!**


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